A Heart Has Many SecretsChristine's Story
by A. Scriptus
Summary: She thinks he's dead, but is he? And will she learn to see the man she loved behind the monster he's become? Rated M for sexual content, character death, and coarse language.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This the first book in a trilogy, so things that don't make sense after the story is done (it is multi-chaptered) will be explained in the next two books. Hope you enjoy this story!

**Prologue**

_**Thursday, 10 May 2007**_

_**7:20 P.M.**_

_"Remember, two months from tonight, you need to go and 'spend the night' at Jane's house," whispered James, my fiancé. James was also my orchestra director and 27 years old to my 16, but we didn't care about those things; we were in love. Besides, under the new laws in my state, I was allowed to get married without my parents' consent at the age of 16._

_James clasped my left hand, which had my aquamarine and diamond engagement ring on it. "This hand," he said, "is the most beautiful hand I've ever seen in my life." "James," I laughed, "my hand is bony, has big knuckles, and is scarred! How in the __heck__ can it be beautiful?" "Because it belongs to __you__, Lara," he stated with his beautiful green eyes wide-open and the kind of seriousness that most people associate with a young child. Yet, the seriousness of those words melted my heart, just like every other compliment that he gave me._

_"I don't want to leave you the day after, James; I want to stay with you forever," I begged him. I knew that staying with a man forbidden to me by my parents, even if he were my husband, could not be. Yet, I couldn't help wanting to stay with my husband, could I? "We'll never be apart again, Lara; we will be forever one," he reassured me._

_With that, he bent down, kissed me gently on the mouth, and led me to forbidden pleasures..._

Our wedding was never to be. Nine days after that night, a guy in the band attacked James with a bottle of 12M hydrochloric acid and sent him to the hospital. On Sunday, James slipped into a coma from the extensive damage to his brain. I left for a trip to Hungary three days after that, though all I wanted to do was stay by James' side.

On the day I was coming back from Hungary, I got a call from Mr. O'Neill, the head band director. He told me that James' mother had pulled the plug on James two days ago, and James had just now died.

All hope went out of me at that moment. I had at least had the hope that James might come out of his coma sometime while I was in Hungary. Now, though, I looked forward to life as a ruined almost-widow. I was heartbroken and nothing bad that happened to me could be worse than this.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I'm sorry about confusing people with the strange names. Lara is Christine, but James isn't anybody important yet. Soon you'll meet Andrew, who's Raoul. If you have any more confusions, just tell me and I'll be more than happy to clear up the confusions!

**Chapter 1**

_**11 August 2007**_

_**3:00 P.M.**_

"Oh, for goodness sake!" explodes Mr. Ridley, the new orchestra director. "Well, let's start again," he sighs, gritting his teeth. Mr. Ridley is clearly irritated with the new principal 1st violin, Catherine Morgan. Catherine can barely play violin, let alone play 1st violin, which is horribly more challenging than 2nd violin, which Catherine had been playing. _It's also more __horrible__ when_ _she plays it,_ I think to myself.

I'm not playing 1st violin, though; I was deemed "not the quality player we're looking for" by Mr. Ridley and his wife, who is the other new orchestra director. Therefore, I am playing 2nd violin (not that I despise playing the part, but I despise being passed over by such an incompetent player). Neither director even came close to James' expertise, but they were the only people who would take the job on such short notice. That's the only thing I can praise them for: taking on such a demanding job in such a time of grief.

Right now, the full orchestra is rehearsing Tristan & Isolde, a new musical written by one of the Dramahawks at our school. The part we're rehearsing is the part when Isolde is deciding whether to give herself to Tristan. It's supposed to be an emotionally intense moment in the musical, and the written music reflects that intensity. Catherine, however, doesn't realize that, and her playing reflects that.

Erin, the girl playing Isolde, sings:

_Should I live in this hell, no escape,_

_Or could I give my heart to faith?_

The strings start a fast tremolo, and her angelic voice pours forth:

_My heart to faith..._

The orchestra starts the gentle melody. Erin puts Isolde's inward thoughts into song:

_He's a good, gentle, loving man-_

_My love for him was __not__ God's plan!_

_Oh, why does Love treat me thus?_

_I burn of her, yet cannot accept her rush._

The violins go into a tremolo, except for Catherine, who plays the melody. As usual, she bungles it, because she actually has to count, instead of just playing half and whole notes. Mr. Ridley isn't paying any attention to Catherine's, as termed by the "artiste" herself, "precocious talent." Rather, he's listening to the wonderful playing of the cellists, led by Anndi Westin. This was a fatal error, though; Catherine is as egotistical as her playing is bad, yet she can spot treachery from a mile off.

We finish the song, though: Erin ends Isolde's thoughts:

_No more loneliness!_

_I will not suffer pain!_

_No more emptiness!_

_I'll give my heart..._

_To...faith!!_

The orchestra ends the song with a predictable, cheesy tag, and Catherine runs off after we finish, her long, brown curly hair bouncing with every step. "Oh, no!" moans Mrs. Ridley. "I guess we'll have to grovel again." I suppress a snort; James would've never begged anyone to stay, much less Catherine. That girl was, at best uncommitted and a nuisance, and James loathed to have her in the orchestra.

I think the only reason Mr. and Mrs. Ridley begged Catherine to stay was that Kevin, their son and only child, was a second violinist, dating Catherine and devoted to her. If she were rejected, she would surely take it out on their precious son, and they didn't want him to feel any emotional pain.

"Oh, Catherine, I didn't mean to slight you!" cried Mr. Ridley. "You're the best player we've ever heard!" Anndi suddenly had a violent coughing fit and had to be whacked on the back by Peter Rolland, her stand partner. "Yes, Catherine!" agreed Mrs. Ridley. "What would we ever do without you?" Then Drew O'Neill, the only bass clarinetist in the orchestra and my best friend, next to my twin sister, starts a coughing fit.

It's too much; I start laughing into my stand, hoping that Catherine won't hear me. Unfortunately, everyone else starts cracking up, because I've got a funny laugh, and, of course, Catherine hears them. "You lie! You laugh at me when my back's turned and worship me when I listen to you!" she screams, her brown eyes flashing with jealousy. "Oh, no, Catherine!" protests Mrs. Ridley. "You really are wonderful!" "Yes!" exclaims Mr. Ridley. "Especially when you play that solo in the second act! Only you could make it sound as heavenly as it is!" Catherine asks him ever so sweetly, "Would you like me to play it for you?"

"R-right now?" stammers Mr. Ridley. Clearly, he wasn't expecting that. "Yes, right now," she commands. There is no question of whether or not; she wants to play now. Mr. Ridley says sheepishly, "Well, if you want to play." "Of course I want to, Mr. Ridley," replies Catherine, back in her saccharine-sweet voice.

Catherine rosins up her bow really well. That was one of her superstitions; if she didn't rosin her bow before every time she played, she would play bad (read: so bad that Satan would run away crying), therefore, she rosined her bow well. She picked up her violin and started playing, without thinking to tune or at least warm up.

The end result of this is a scratchy, stuttering rendition of what should've been a beautiful piece. I think the only person who's actually listening to her is Kevin, and that's because he'll be in trouble if he doesn't.

Scarcely had she finished the first few bars, though, when, of all things to happen, out of the air drops one of the prop swords. The sword hits Catherine on the head and knocks her out of her seat. Some of the girls scream, and Kevin jumps out of his seat rather like his eyes pop out of his head. Much to everyone's surprise, Catherine gets up by herself, though Kevin has to help her to a chair.

"It's the Phantom," whispers Drew. "Oh, don't be ridiculous; there is no such thing," Giselle Kendrick whispers back. Ever since we came back to the music building for orchestra camp, there's always been a prank played on someone. At first, they were funny, like writing dirty limericks on the whiteboard, or moving the rock stop box around five times during a practice. Since the pranks couldn't be pinned on anyone else, the kids in the orchestra joked about "the Phantom of the Orchestra" playing one prank or another.

Then, the pranks started getting dangerous. Mr. Cardin, one of the band directors, denounced the "childish fantasy" of the Phantom. The next day, Mr. O'Neill found him half-dead in the conference room, which was locked from the outside. Apparently, someone had forced him into the conference room, locked the door, then turned the temperature down from 69 to 45. Strangely, no one but Mr. Cardin was there in the building as far as we knew. For the next couple of days, all he would talk about was the "living corpse," whatever that was.

Needless to say, most of the orchestra kids were careful not to say anything against the Phantom. Catherine, though, was not like most orchestra kids. "For months you've been telling me that accidents happen, but every time I try to play, something bad happens to me! You call that an accident? This is the work of an evil, twisted freak!" she screamed at Mr. and Mrs. Ridley. They tried to soothe her, but she'd really had enough. She packed up her violin, grabbed Kevin, and out they went, followed by Catherine's close friends.

"Now what're we going to do?" moaned Mr. Ridley. "Catherine is first chair; no one can replace her." Giselle's cheeks flamed. Last year, she had been principal chair, yet now she was relegated to near the back of the section. The only comfort she had was in spending time with Colin Winifred, a guy in the orchestra who'd graduated last year.

Just then, Mr. O'Neill walked in. Mr. O'Neill was the head band director and also oversaw the orchestra. In Mr. O'Neill's hand is a folded piece of parchment with a blood-red seal. I haven't seen a letter written like that ever, so I wonder why Mr. O'Neill has it. "Mr. and Mrs. Ridley, I have a letter from the Phantom. He has a few requests he wishes to make," announces Mr. O'Neill. His fiercely blue eyes and aristocratic air almost dared anyone to challenge him, though those were the very things that terrified people.

I wasn't scared of Mr. O'Neill, though. He'd helped me through the roughest period of my grief, and was a second father to me. He'd adopted me in sixth-grade year, when my parents died. In fact, that was how I met Drew, because Mr. O'Neill was her godfather and had adopted her because her parents had died when she was twelve. Now Mr. O'Neill had become the intermediary between the Phantom and the orchestra directors, for reasons I couldn't fathom.

"Oh Lord, do we have to take this crap from a juvenile delinquent?" whined Mrs. Ridley. She had been and still was under the belief that one of the kids in the orchestra was responsible for all the pranks, never mind the fact that none of the kids had a key to the A/C. Mr. O'Neill gave her "the look" and went on:

_Dear Madam and Sir:_

_I understand from my inside sources that you are the new directors of my orchestra. Seeing as you are working for me, I would like to tell you how I wish the orchestra to be run. _

_When the orchestra has a concert, you are to reserve the seats above the stage for me. No one is allowed to be there besides myself. In addition, I wish to have a salary of, say, thirty thousand dollars a year. This should not tax you too much, as I know that the orchestra now has a very rich backer and doesn't have to worry about money._

_I sincerely hope that you will follow these instructions. A certain man by the name of Mr. Cardin should suffice to explain why you should._

_Your Humble Servant,_

_Phantasmia Orchestrae_

"How he wishes the orchestra to be run?" cried Mrs. Ridley. "I'll show him how _I_ want something to be run in a minute!" "Hush, woman," her husband fearfully hissed. "That's the least of our worries right now." "Oh, yes," she crowed, "because of that stupid trick on our best violinist, we'll have to cancel opening night of the show!" All the kids started whispering in wonder until Mr. O'Neill said, "Lara Henry could play it."

"What?" exclaimed both directors. "You heard me," said Mr. O'Neill. "Besides, it would be a wonderful tribute to Mr. Sidney to have one of his favorite students play that solo. I inwardly thought, _Favorite student? That's a laugh. If they knew the truth, it would curl their hair more than Catherine's._

"Are you sure she's right for this?" asked Mr. Ridley. "Mr. Ridley, when have I ever been wrong on anything?" Mr. O'Neill smiled. "Alright, let her play. The worst that can happen now is that we'll have a bad opening night," sighed Mrs. Ridley. I pick up my violin and bow, move to Catherine's seat, and start playing.

The golden notes of Tristan and Isolde's death scene pour from the strings I play, and, though I don't notice it at the time, everyone sits spell-bound...


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 2**

I finished playing, and the audience cheered. I stood up, curtsied, and left the auditorium. I put my violin away and went up to the B/OB to have some private time. I often went up to the B/OB, because I felt James' presence there.

I went into the uniform room and knelt down. I started praying for my parents, my sister Aislinn, who was living with another family, Drew, because she too was grieving for her lost parents, but especially James, because he was closest to my heart. As I was praying, I heard a voice whisper, "Brava! Bravissima!" I sang in reply:

_My soul I gave_

_When I played on this night,_

_And this shining gift_

_Has now killed my poor heart._

Just then, I heard Drew call me, saying, "Lara! Lara!", and the voice, too, called me, whispering with passion, "Lara!"

Drew knelt beside me and sang:

_Lara is our great star,_

_A perfect violinist!_

_I only want to hear you tell_

_Who your teacher is_

I sat there, thinking about my teacher. I told her:

_How can I talk about him_

_When I have never seen his face?_

_The only explanation I have_

_Is that an angel teaches me._

Drew replied with worry

_Are you so sure about that, Lara?_

I assured her:

_Drew, who else could it be?_

_God's sent an angel to me_

_To comfort me in my pain._

_My prayers have all been answered;_

_What else can I say?_

Drew declared:

_These dreams of yours can't be real;_

_Lara, don't you understand?_

_Those words just don't go with_

_The work of divine hands_

We sang together the gipsy-like melody that came in our heads

_The Violin's Angel has come again;_

_The Violin's Angel is near._

I sang:

_Come to me, dear Angel_

_Your face I long to see_

While Drew questioned my beliefs:

_But do I trust this Angel_

_Who makes me quiver in fear?_

I saw a bit of cloak and was terrified. I sang to Drew:

_A chill has come over me!_

Drew exclaimed:

_Your face is pure white!_

I confided in her:

_I'm afraid of what is to be._

She told me:

_I'll keep you from your fright._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 3**

I collapsed onto the floor in the orchestra room. I thanked God that Mr. O'Neill had forbidden anyone from coming in or going out besides himself, because I was not ready to deal with guys coming in and pressuring me to go out with them.

I heard voices outside that I somewhat recognized, but I was too tired to pay attention. I rubbed my head to get rid of the tension headache I had and closed my eyes, praying for sleep to come quickly, though I knew that was probably impossible. I never heard the door unlock, nor did I hear padded footsteps come into the inner sanctum.

A hand rested on my shoulder, and I heard a familiar voice in my ear. "You really did well tonight, Lara," whispers Andrew, one of my friends from Latin class. He's the other reason I didn't want a host of guys pressuring me to go out with them; despite my pleas, he's very jealous of any guy who comes near me, and he is somewhat under the delusion that we're a couple.

Okay, so I let him believe that I harbored feeling for him. It was better to have him worshipping me than have him hating my guts. Besides, he's a very good deterrent against guys who want to take advantage of my near-widowed state of grief. I'm sure God will forgive me for what I'm doing.

I stare into the velvet pools that are Andrew's dark brown eyes, so unlike my murky hazel, which look like dirty rainwater. In his eyes, I see excitement, child-like hope, and a hint of masculine danger. Yet, I'm not entranced by his charms anymore than a mild vegetarian is charmed by a ¾-pound burger. I, at times, barely like him platonically, and I never liked him romantically; the only man I would ever think of being with is James. I'm not about to tell _that_ to Andrew, though, as you might've guessed.

"Watcha starin' at?" he asks me teasingly. I push him a little and say, "Boy, you know what I'm starin' at! How could I have eyes for anyone or anything but you?" He pushes me back, and we get into a bit of a tussle that ends in Andrew pinning me to the floor. He kisses me, then says, "Come on, Lara; let's go out for a night."

"What?" I exclaim. "Andrew, are you crazy? It's nine-thirty at night, and you're talking about going out for an evening?" He asks, "What're you afraid of, Lara? No one's gonna judge you for having a little fun every now and then." "Andrew, I'm still practically in mourning. I can't go out on the town like everyone else," I tell him, trying to give anything as a satisfactory answer. "James wouldn't want you to immure yourself forever, Lara; I'll give you ten minutes to change, but that's it," Andrew declared above my protests.

He walked out of the orchestra room to get his driver to come around to the other side, and I was left by myself. That was the side of Andrew I hated: the side that wanted its own way all the time, regardless of others' desires or needs. When he acted like that, I felt like a common girl in a cathouse set aside for just one man.

I was trying to fit my new necklace on myself when I heard a voice resound through the orchestra room:

_Who is this new suitor_

_Who dares to take my place?_

_I am your only true love;_

_He cannot compare!_

I sang back, in penitence, to my teacher

_Angel, you are my comfort;_

_You are my stay and guide._

_I could not help myself,_

_For my soul was fallible._

_Let me now see your face,_

_My dear beloved tutor!_

I heard his voice become gentle and loving, like another voice I'd heard long ago:

_How can I not forgive you, loved one_

_When you make my song take flight?_

_Look, the floor opens for you;_

_Come to your love true._

I sang that gipsy melody full and strong now:

_The Violin's Angel has come again;_

_The Violin's Angel is near._

_Come to me, dear Angel;_

_Your face I long to see._

The masked Angel called me, slowly, insistently

_The Angel comes to you;_

_Come to your Angel._

Barely, just barely, I heard Andrew's shouting, "Lara, what's going on? Lara!"


End file.
